Page 37 of The Masks We Wear (Satan’s Angels #1)
Brody
I frown, a crease forming between my brows as a documentary on Kiss plays on the hotel TV.
It’s like the TV just knew I absolutely fucking hate them and wanted to play it just to spite me.
A clip of Eric Singer plays of him twirling his drumsticks in his fingers and I scoff, tossing a pillow with unnecessary aggression at the TV. “Fuck you,” I mutter distastefully.
“What did Eric Singer do to you?” Harvey interrupts my little outburst as he enters the room, his hair dripping water into his eyes from his shower.
My eyes dip to the white fluffy hotel towel draped around his waist that looks like it’s about to fall at any second.
I lick my lips as my eyes rove over his chiseled abs and rigid chest, remembering the feeling of his body against mine.
He clears his throat to grab my attention and when my eyes meet his he gives me a knowing, teasing look as he dries his dark tendrils of hair with a separate towel.
I clear my lustful thoughts of him from my mind when I remember how sore I am from all the sex and orgasms he’s given me these last few days.
Since our tryst in my dressing room after the show in Colorado, we went for round two in my hotel room.
And then in his. And then in the shower the next morning before we had to hop on the plane to Illinois.
Oh and then once we got to Illinois, we fucked in my new hotel room, and then again in the studio after the girls left, and again in his hotel room.
Am I forgetting anything? Oh, yes! There was the fuck on the private balcony of my suite.
I woke up next to Harvey this morning, curled into his side with my head on his chest and I’ve never felt safer in my life.
I don’t worry about my attacker coming back to finish me off, I don’t get panic attacks over what happened, and I just feel relaxed, at peace around him.
There is something about Harvey Taylor that makes me feel so protected and encased in an impenetrable shield of dark eyes and a hulking frame.
There’s also his magnificently full ass that I catch myself staring at quite often.
Tonight is the show and until then, I have the day to myself and I’m choosing to spend it with Harvey.
It fascinates me how I could’ve gone from hating his guts to wanting to be with him every minute of my day, but I don’t question it in fear of losing precious time.
I know our time is limited and with every day that goes by, we’re one day closer to having to go our separate ways and return to our completely different lives in other states.
Ivory and Aria are spending the day at the hotel spa and invited me to join but I declined and said I was exhausted and wanted to rest up for the show.
It wasn’t a complete lie considering Harvey and I have been up at all hours of the night, most definitely not sleeping, and I am tired.
That just isn’t the reason I’m not at the spa with them right now.
The reason is because I would much rather be having delicious sex with my grumpy babysitter, though that may be off the table at the moment considering how sore I am.
I roll onto my side, propping my head up in my palm as it rests on my elbow.
The gray t-shirt I stole from Harvey rides up my thigh with the movement, revealing the black lacy thong I have on underneath.
His eyes don’t miss a thing, completely homed in on my exposed flesh and undergarments.
I raise an annoyed brow at the conversation topic and frown even deeper as if that were even possible, “I fucking hate that guy,” I grumble.
He shakes his head on a low laugh as he removes his towel and puts on a pair of boxers. “Care to explain why?”
I answer as I ogle him, “Because he’s overrated.
I’m a better drummer for starters,” I say arrogantly before adding, “And the green circles around the eyes? Distasteful if you ask me. Oh! And how could I forget the fact that he does his makeup like a Goddamn cat?” I rant, my voice rising on the last part.
I quickly remind myself to keep my voice down just in case Selene is somewhere close by.
The last thing we need is her finding out about us.
He steps into a pair of sweatpants and meets my eyes with a doubtful expression. “Is it the whole band you hate or just Eric Singer?”
I sit up and speak passionately, anger clear in my tone, “I hate them all!”
He laughs under his breath as he walks over to the bed and joins me. His calloused fingers trail over the exposed flesh of my thigh, sending goosebumps rising all over my skin. I almost forget what we were talking about, too distracted by his touch. “Why do you hate Kiss?”
“Because they fucking suck,” I spit. I toss my head back into the plethora of pillows Harvey has on his bed and huff, “They’re way too try hard.
Aerosmith came first and they’re way better.
I can’t believe people actually put Kiss in the rock and metal hall of fame let alone consider them one of the greatest of all time.
If you ask me, Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Motley Crüe, Aerosmith, and Ozzy are the greatest of all time.
Kiss could never compare, let alone Eric fucking Singer,” I ramble on and stop when I catch him staring at the side of my face with an amused expression on his.
“What?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
I know he isn’t a huge music fan, I probably just annoyed the shit out of him.
He smiles slightly, “I like how passionate you are about music. It isn’t just a career to you, it’s your life and you love it. You get so lost in it and watching you create, listening to you sing is like nothing I’ve ever seen or heard before. I could get lost in you while you get lost in music.”
A swarm of butterflies chooses this exact moment to go absolutely ballistic in my stomach at his words.
My anger towards Eric Singer and Kiss dissipates, replaced entirely by emotions towards the man looking at me like nobody has ever looked at me before.
His black eyes stare into my blues with such depth, it feels more intimate than all the times we’ve had sex.
Walking away from him in just another five weeks is going to be impossible.
“I thought you didn’t like music,” I tease him, my cheeks flushing with color.
He grabs me by the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to his, kissing me. I kiss him back and roll on top of him so that I straddle his waist with my already damp center with his already rigid length. He pulls away for a split second, “I don’t like music. I never said I didn’t like your music.”
I feign surprise, “Have you been a closeted Satan’s Angels fan this whole time?”
He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, I have a poster of you in my closet and a shrine to you under my bed.”
“Kinky,” I tease as I grind down on his length.
He grunts as his fingers dig into the flesh of my ass, controlling my movements over his groin. He nips my jaw and breathes, “Your music has grown on me the same way that you have.”
“So romantic,” I say, sarcasm lacing my tone.
He grins wickedly as he tosses me onto my back and settles between my legs. “Someone is getting a little bratty. You remember what happens when you get bratty don’t you?”
The pulse between my legs runs rampant with need, with anticipation.
I might still be sore but fuck it. I need him over and over again like a hunger that just can’t be satiated.
The reminder of what he did to me the last time I got bratty with him, the time in my dressing room, comes to mind and my nipples pucker at how filthy and primal we got.
Remembering the same thing, he practically tears his t-shirt off my body and sucks a nipple into his mouth.
I throw my head back and moan, covering my face with one of his pillows that smells like him, inhaling his scent deep.
While he sucks and licks the puckered flesh, his other hand dips between my legs, spreading my juices through my folds and I ask myself how I’ll ever be able to part ways with him?
It may have started as hate, as sexual tension and frustration that turned into attraction and then evolved into a friends with benefits type of thing, but this feels entirely different.
We don’t just have sex and go back to opposite sides of the hallway.
We sleep together, entwined by our legs or with my head on his chest, we wake up together, we spend all day together either watching TV in our hotel rooms and relaxing or going out into the cities and getting food or going shopping, even just exploring or going for walks while trying to hide from the paps.
––––––––
THE SHOW LAST NIGHT went perfectly, though all I could think about the entire time was running back to my dressing room when the show ended and locking Harvey and I inside.
Selene seems suspicious of us, but she hasn’t mentioned anything to me.
I haven’t told the girls either, knowing Ivory has a tendency to blurt out information at the worst of times.
We’re in Chicago until tomorrow morning and then we head to Michigan but for now, we sit in the studio, heads bent together as we work on our new album.
So far, we have about six completed songs and according to our pain in the ass contract with the record label, we need about six more.
We only have about five weeks left and while we work to make new music, Selene has been working tirelessly, having virtual meetings with the legal and PR teams to see if there have been any updates on our cases.
So far there haven’t been many updates and Selene feels that it’s a good sign but I’m not feeling too optimistic.